


If He Weren't Truly Desperate

by Shaw



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Angst, E for Sexual Content, M/M, No happiness to be found, Sorry Grandma you never asked for your grandson to write this kind of stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 02:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10754520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaw/pseuds/Shaw
Summary: Oliver and Jacques weren't always like this. They used to be in love. Now, if he weren't truly desperate, he wouldn't touch him if he had the option.





	If He Weren't Truly Desperate

Sunlight was filtering through the sheer white curtains of the Kirkland-Bonnefoy manor, settled in the heart of Virginia; Jacques Bonnefoy was in his study, a cigar held between his fingers loosely and a glass of whiskey on the rocks at his side. Smoke was thoroughly infused in the air of the room, the window closed shut tightly, and more yet was being puffed from Jacques’ mouth as he blew it from around the cigar and out his nostrils. Putting a hand down to rub to the rim of the glass he was drinking from, Jaq hardly payed attention when the door was opened by the fellow owner of the estate. Entering with a rush of fresh air, Oliver was quick to make a face at the stench of cigar smoke that had essentially permeated the room.

As Oliver nudged the door partially closed behind himself as he entered into the space both of the men made very stiff eye contact as Oliver passed a hand down the front of his pressed clothing. Jacques slowly slid his cigar between his teeth as he held gaze with the strawberry blond. The straining silence between the two broke courtesy of Oliver clearing his throat and striding slow and purposefully over to the Frenchman behind the desk. 

"I see you're reeking up this hole again; you're drinking more swill." Jacques's mouth twisted into a frown automatically with an exhale of smoke curling from his maw. Oliver halted at the edge of the desk and lightly placed his fingertips on the desktop, lips pressed firmly together. The look was taken in silence as Jacques continued to puff on his cigar, only removing it slowly to tap ash onto the desk before slipping it between his teeth again. 

"It would do you best to answer me." 

"Why are you here again." Jacques' low gravelly voice cut off the crisp tone of Oliver at the last syllable, invoking a twitch from one of the small muscles by the former man's right eye. How incredibly rude. Drumming his finger lightly, Oliver shifted a bit closer and avoided stepping on the spent nub of a cigar that had been discarded haphazardly to the carpeted floor earlier. Putting on his best smile, albeit it was strained, the British Nation attempted to make his demands known without actually saying them.

"I live here as well, if you weren't aware. If you came out of this cave you've made perhaps you would know this. Now... As to why I am here? Don’t you already know why?" The smile fell near the end of his sentence and Oliver cast a look around. It wasn't as if the room was unpleasant. As with the rest of the manor it was the utmost luxury that could have been brought to the Americas. It was a grand study, a room that Oliver wished had not been claimed by a man who simply stocked the shelves of cabinets with liquor and desk drawers with various cigars and cigarettes. God knew what else was in this room. He supposed the only other person who would know is that dirty ingrate brat that Jacques was too kind to. Disgusting. 

"You're a man of God, if I last remembered, Oliver. Hm?" Leaving the question to hang in the air, Jacques lifted his drink to his lips and downed the last of it with a slight grimace. Why didn't he go toy with that poor dark man. Jaq knew the little slave thing wouldn't be able to raise a hand against it anyways. Better than hassling him about his lecherous cravings. 

"... And you, not, isn't that so? What do you care to bring up such a thing." The stretch of an unpleasant smile across Jacques' face made Oliver want to grab a fistful of the man's light brown hair and wipe the smug look off on the surface of the desk. Another involuntary twitch. 

"I see. I see." And he left it there. More ash was tapped on the desk dangerously close to Oliver's hand and Jacques set his glass back down, leaning back in his chair with a long, slow exhale. Expression back to tight anticipation, Oliver waited for some kind of verdict. He felt vile having to rely on Jacques to make this decision for him. It was awful. He was awful. In the hindsight perhaps they were both just terrible. Finally, after a bit of smokeless puffing, Jacques lifted a finger and gestured languidly for Oliver to lean down closer. 

He did do so with a slight narrowing of blue eyes. The British man didn't know what exactly Jacques planned to do, only that he had likely gotten his way with the usual exceptions made for compromise. When a hand threaded into the hair on the back of his head, Oliver instinctually planted a hand on the desk and another on the chair head that his French counterpart was seated in. This proved better in the end as Jacques brought their faces together, planting a kiss to Oliver's mouth just as he was opening it to say something. With no real warning he exhaled in a sigh, seeming to nearly unintentionally force smoke into the other man's mouth. He released him automatically when Oliver struggled against it. 

Oliver reeled back with a loud hiss, brow drawn together as he was interrupted by his own coughing. Once he had settled, bracing himself on the desk, Oliver shot a glare Jacques' way and slowly licked his lips. The morbid smile that found its way on the Englishman's lips stretched his face in an almost awkward way. Jacques said nothing; the look on his face was resigned, nearly melancholic. 

"Tricky little gnat, you are, aren't you?" Moving closer again and inciting another step in this sad game of depravity, Oliver loomed over Jacques with a silent threat. The thinning line of tension stretched further as Jacques stood; He came nose to nose with Oliver, brown eyes hooded and mouth pulled taunt. He swallowed and within his eyes was something. Something unidentifiable. It made Oliver’s skin itch as his gaze stayed glued to the other man’s lips before slowly, oh so slowly, traveling back up to meet Jacques’ own dark eyes. 

The air was too thick, Oliver suddenly decided, for he could feel his lungs closing; maybe perhaps that was Jacques’ doing as he leaned in agonizingly slow with a near hesitance, one hand slipping slowly around Oliver’s waist with no real urgency. Oliver’s fingers curled inward toward his palm as he let himself reach up and grip the back of his partner’s shirt. A choked whine barely managed to escape from him as he tried to carelessly push his lips to the brunet’s. He was right there. He was right there, damn it. All he was met with was another sad sounding sigh

“You can be so repugnant… You know that?” The emotion in his voice made Oliver’s stomach sick. This wasn’t the time for this kind of talk. He wished he could tell him so but there was a lump in his throat that prohibited such and the lack of attention he was getting brought a pang of involuntary panic to his chest. Oliver’s actions did not dare betray him and instead of rushing to try and get some more of a reaction from Jacques, the fairer man merely tried to slowly coax it out of him.

It seemed too late for coaxing, as Jacques had made to move away with the fluidity that a drunken man should not have; he easily had stepped away from Oliver and successfully turned his back to the man all in the same motion. It made the Englishman want to push him down and kick him until his shoe was bloodied. Each wave of violence that passed over Oliver merely left him feeling more empty, left him feeling more and more needy of something, anything, that Jacques could offer. 

“Please.” Oliver’s voice was ragged with some kind of wanting. It burned his entire body, making every inch of his skin feel as if it were blistering. Such intense feelings were not known to him often, at least not like this. Jacques turned his head, looking at Oliver in a sidelong manner. Eventually he turned back to him. His face was steeled, as if he had had braced himself for some greatly unpleasant task. Trills of excitement coursed through Oliver all the same. Yes, yes, yes. Finally, what he wanted was his. 

Jacques arm wound around Oliver’s shoulders now, the other bracing itself around his lower back. Oliver’s arms were momentarily trapped between his own body and Jacques’; it invoked a momentary feeling of powerlessness that made him quake violently for a second. Jacques mouth was hot on Oliver’s own, bitter with nicotine and liquor and hard with a unwillingness that Oliver deigned to ignore. As if floodgates had been thrown open Oliver recuperated the kiss with a hunger deep and wide. He pushed forwards, wiggling his arms free from their confinement and wrapping Jacques in a tight embrace. If it hurt the other man he did not show it. He did not show anything. 

Jacques back hit a cabinet. Oliver’s hands were back between them, nails clawing down the man’s chest and stomach. His mouth had moved from Oliver’s own to dive into the man’s neck. Oliver’s face was contorted in something between revulsion and ecstasy, sickness and pleasure. 

“Don’t leave any marks. If you do, I’ll--” Oliver was cut off when Jacques sunk his teeth into the flesh of his neck. A gasp was followed by a moan. Everything felt good. Everything felt awful. Everything felt amazing. But especially that. 

“Fuck.” The curse came out bestial in nature, Oliver bending his head to the side to expose more skin. Jacques leg had shifted to sit between Oliver’s own. A handful of hair was taken by Jacques as he pulled Oliver’s head further in one direction, straining the muscles in the man’s neck and shoulders. Oliver didn’t seem to be paying attention to this as he rather focused more on grinding on the leg pressed to his crotch. 

Jacques kept pulling his leg back before nudging it forwards. This left Oliver to occasionally thrust futilely against nothing in a desperate attempt for friction. Jacques has pulled Oliver’s shirt down enough to suck deep blossoming bruises into his chest. The two rolled roles, Oliver now with his back pressed firmly against the liquor cabinet and Jacques with his back to the door.

“What do you want me to do.” Jacques had pushed his face back to Oliver’s neck now, voice quiet and filled with a sadness that seemed out of place for the situation. They were moving quickly. Jacques knew these times were always quick. He was thankful, really. God how he despised this. 

“I want-” Oliver stopped, as if clarity was coming back to the fog that he draped itself over his mind. He stopped and he held his breath. Jacques could feel it and for a moment he grew incredibly fearful. Not for himself but for Oliver. A deep exhale and the tightening of fingers, nails digging mercilessly into his back, calmed him back down. 

“I want you to get on your knees.” 

“As you wish.” Jacques sank down to the floor slowly, not even wincing as Oliver fisted his hands in the tangles of his brown hair and began to tug them out fiercely. When he was seated comfortably, he looked up. Oliver’s face had truly taken on an impressive color at this point. His expression was now one of something much like bloodlust. It was always hard to decipher the lust for violence and the lust for flesh when it came to Oliver. 

Something blasphemous and demeaning was being growled out by Oliver in a guttural series of grunts as he continued to yank tangles free and scratch at Jacques scalp. Jacques didn’t want to decipher what he was saying. He tried desperately block out the few words he could catch, willing himself to forget the English language in its entirety. He focused instead on tugging down Oliver’s pants low enough to free the man’s cock. It had been straining against its confines for a while now, the arousal being intensified by the priorly bottle up desperation. 

Oliver had no tact. Not in these moments. His carefully constructed persona, his excellently maintained facade-- It all crumbled to nothing the second Jacques put his mouth around him. Instead he took a hold of Jacques head firmly and fucked into his mouth with wild abandon. All Jacques could do was hold onto the breath in his lungs and keep his teeth out of the way and drool began to spill down his chin and tears pricked behind his eyes. It was terrible. Soap, musk, and smoke were all Jacques’ world narrowed down to. That and the vague taste of precum that managed to find its way up out of his throat and onto his tongue. 

Oliver gave a sudden sharp cry, his hips faltering. Several spurts of cum gushed down Jacques throat with no warning. He would have gagged in distaste were it not for the rest of Oliver’s cock in his mouth and throat, blocking the way. Oliver gave several more slow thrusts into the wet mess he had made of Jacques mouth before pulling out altogether. 

There was a long silence as Jacques coughed as quietly as possible and tried to recover from the intense session he had been subjected to. He held one hand to his mouth to catch any cum or saliva that flew from his mouth as he coughed. Oliver righted his clothing and tucked himself away after cleaning up quickly, panting slowly returning to a regulated tempo. 

It was several minutes until Oliver’s hand gently, with uncharacteristic tenderness, smoothed Jacques’ hair back and away from his face. The man looked up, face still slightly flushed from lack of oxygen. Oliver was gazing down at him with a guised expression, thoughts unclear. With some difficulty due to stiffness of the knee, Jacques stood. 

“...” Oliver said nothing. He merely cupped Jacques’ face in his hand. The brunet let himself think for a moment that he might like the touch and leaned his face into it, hands fluttering upwards hesitantly towards Oliver’s arm. It was then Oliver struck him. Hard. 

“You’re disgusting.” Was all Oliver said before he pushed Jacques back harshly and proceeded to leave the room. The Frenchman sat there on the desk where he had landed, staring at the liquor cabinet blankly long after the door was slammed on him. He sat there, in deep thought, before slamming a fist down into the wooden surface of the table beneath him. Hard enough to splinter the wood beneath his knuckles. Hard enough to distract him, at least for a moment, from the pain throbbing in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't tell you how long this has been sitting in my google drive unfinished. Literal years, that of which the number I can't remember!!! That's how long. Anyways, enjoy!


End file.
